


Neighbours

by Brieeezie (Florrama)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, Fluff, Neighbours, Self-Insert, imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 22:56:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18647806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florrama/pseuds/Brieeezie
Summary: Despite living in New York for some time now, you still haven't encountered any crime, or the superhero vs supervillain malarkey it's got going on - that is, until, a suprise visitor finds themselves in your flat--No particular form of Spiderman.





	Neighbours

**Author's Note:**

> For this Spidey I’ve kind of used inspiration from both Tom Holland and PS4 spiders, and he is aged up a little (from mcu) as he probably will be in most fics. So this is my first fic for mcu - at least published anyway - and a quick, little, self indulgent one, so let me know what you think! (Possibly riddled with typos as it’s very late here). (I do take requests, and for all mcu characters, & spiderverse, so head over to my tumblr! (Brieeezie).

It’s well past midnight when you hear the crash coming from the kitchen. At first you don’t quite believe it - after all, you’re stuck on the final point of an essay that is due in a week’s fine, and completely sleep deprived - but then comes another metal clang, and you freeze.

 

You’ve been living in New York for two years now (though in the grand scheme of things it isn’t that long) so you’re fully aware of the dangers of living in such a busy city; burglaries, muggings, the occasional super-villain - but somehow you’d managed to convince yourself you lived in a better part of NYC, practically untouched by crime. Of course, you still feel nervous when you walk past a large group of men, or dark alleyways, but there are plenty of street lamps and sirens more often than not sound different.

 

So you don’t really know how to react when muffled swears slip through the gap between your bedroom door and the door frame. They don’t sound particularly threatening - but you’re not taking any chances. As you carefully stand, tiptoeing around the creaky floorboards, and search for something long and threatening enough to wield, you wonder how on Earth the burglar got in. You don’t leave windows open - especially not at this time of night - but the one by the kitchen had been playing up recently, and if it hadn’t shut properly -

 

You tug open your wardrobe and pull out the baseball bat your friend had given you as a moving present - jokingly commenting it was for protection. Briefly you smile, before remembering that there may be a not-so-nice stranger in your apartment, just waiting to steal all they can. Not that there is much to steal. You’re a student, after all, meaning you’re practically broke and lacking any sort of luxuries. But if someone is desperate enough they’ll steal anything. Which would also potentially make them dangerous.

 

The door manages to open without creaking, and you’re suddenly even more grateful for the fluffy socks on your feet. Not only are they incredible warm and comfy, but they provide padding that smothers the sound of your footsteps.

 

You turn the corner, flinching as you hear another whispered curse and a heavy sigh. Whoever it is mustn’t realise that you’re here - at least, that’s what you presume. Your bedroom light hadn’t been on, so it isn’t that surprising that they’d think the flat was empty. Just as you step into the kitchen, a slim figure steps towards you, and you instinctively lift the bat with closed eyes in preparation to hit the intruder as hard as you possibly can -

 

Only, the bat doesn’t move an inch. Something stops it from moving towards your target which, as you finally open your eyes, you realise is a hand clad in red and blue. You simply blink, staring at the wide white eyes and the infamous red mask.

 

Then you frown, narrow your eyes, and grip the bat tighter - even though it isn’t going anywhere.

 

“What the hell?” You finally manage, voice low and tone harsh. In this moment you don’t care that he’s a hero, or that he’s saved New York plenty of times. Breaking and entering is still breaking and entering, no matter the person nor their lifestyle. The white lenses narrow slightly as he flinches, but he doesn’t release the bat either. How you look a threat in your fluffy blue socks and _Harry Potter_ pyjamas is beyond you (and truthfully, you only just realise how ridiculous you must look) but you suppose anyone with a bat, and the previous intent to attack, presents some sort of threat.

 

“If I let go, do you promise not to try and hit me?” It strikes you then how young he sounds. No younger than you, perfectly mature university student, but young enough that he definitely isn’t much older, either.

 

“You still haven’t answered my question.” You bite back, but quickly nod your head. Successfully beating up Spider-man is not something you want on your CV anytime soon. He releases the bat and watches as you slowly bring it down before taking a step backwards. Your heart is pounding in your chest. You tell yourself it’s purely because it’s been quite the stressful evening, but there’s the small, tell-tale voice in the back of your head, that bubbles up with excitement whenever the Avengers appear on the screen, currently telling you you’re just excited to meet the superhero. Even if he did technically break into your home.

 

“Ah, well. Funny story.” He mutters. You raise an eyebrow in return, and watch as he scratches at the back of his neck - completely at odds with the more confident looking man that swings through the streets of New York City. He shifts a pot back into its place on the shelf - one he must have knocked over earlier - and you realise he’s avoiding eye contact, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. You know he wasn’t doing anything criminal, but clearly it still isn’t something he wants to share.

 

You set the baseball bat down on the counter and cross your arms over your chest. It still hasn’t quite hit you that you’re having a conversation with Spider-Man, in your flat, and that quite frankly you can see the lines of his muscles through his costume and it’s doing funny things to your chest and stomach.

 

“I slipped through the wrong window by accident. I was trying to get to my friend’s flat, and misjudged. Obviously.”

 

“Friend? In this building?” You question, and he nods, finally facing you fully. For a brief moment, you run your eyes across the spider sigil on his chest (and his pecs, because why not hit two birds with one stone?). Then you raise your eyes to meet his again - or rather, his lenses - and furrow your eyebrows in thought. “Who might that be?”

 

Then you realise the question is actually quite invasive, and unfair on the friend in question, so you ready yourself to apologise when the man in front of you speaks up.

 

“Peter Parker.”

 

You stand in silence for a moment, shocked yet again. But it makes sense, in a way. Peter Parker is a science guy, and even if you haven’t spoken to him very much you know he’s incredibly intelligent. And cute.

 

“Parker? He’s - he’s sweet. I haven’t had the chance to really speak to him much.”

 

There’s a slight pause, before he speaks again.

 

“But you’d like to? Speak to him - I mean.” You can’t tell if you imagine it, but for a second he almost sounds hopeful. Perhaps Peter doesn’t really get out much, and he’s only looking out for his friend. But then you know he’s friends with MJ, who you know through a mutual friend, and that he’s actually not in his flat all that often.

 

“Yeah - sure. Of course.” You stumble over your words, a little flustered at the idea of starting up any sort of friendship with Peter Parker. “It’d be nice to be friendly with someone else my age - that lives close by.” And he’s cute. Kinda tall, brown hair, lovely eyes, sweet smile. You wonder what Spider-man looks like, and suddenly your fingers itch to remove his mask.

 

“He’s mentioned you a couple of times.” He says, almost stumbling over his own words. You’re at a loss for words for a few seconds, before you close your mouth again and smile softly.

 

“He has?”

 

He nods, rubs at the back of his neck again, before pointing at the open window with his thumb. “I ought to go. Peter is probably expecting me.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and gesture to the window with a smile - though slightly awkward. “Tell him - Peter - I said hi?”

 

“I will.” He stands still for a moment, glancing at you for a while longer, before turning on his heel and slipping out of the window. You’re about to walk back out of the kitchen, still slightly shell-shocked from the whole event, when his head pops back into view - but upside down. The little nuance makes you smile slightly, and you smile wider when he asks you for your name - not forgetting his earlier actions, but definitely forgiving.

 

“Y/N. What about you?”

 

“Whatever you like.” The slight flirtatious undertone sends your heart into a new rhythm, and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning. “Spidey usually works a charm, though.”

 

“Spidey it is.”

 

And then he’s gone - properly this time - and it isn’t until you open the door the next morning to Peter Parker that you realise the night before wasn’t a dream or some hallucination. He smiles, shoves his hands in his pockets, and you can’t help but grin in return.


End file.
